Recruiting Drive: Jethro 4 (Jethro Goes to War)

by Chris Hechtl

  “Yeah, what gives there?” Chavez asked.

  “I think we have enough on our plate staying alive to poke our noses too far in to look. But I know a few people who might be interested,” Jethro said as Bast nodded and typed out an email to the intelligence officers recommending they look into the matter further. When she finished she showed it to him. He nodded and clicked send.

  “Done. Now, let's finish gearing up. We've got work to do.”

  “Another day in the trenches,” Chirup sighed, picking up a towel and tossing it over his shoulder. The towel was nearly as long as he was.

  <(>~^~<(>

  “What do you think of the Gunny's brainstorm?” Lieutenant Chaing asked Captain Lyon during the morning meeting.

  “I think it has some merit, but we don't have much intel. And he's right, most of it would have been cleaned up. But what bothers me is that there is no record of anyone visiting the island since or at least returning. The entire area has been turned into a no go zone. Protodon's private black hole,” the captain said.

  “Bermuda triangle,” Moira murmured thoughtfully as she sipped her tea.

  The captain eyed her and then nodded. “Yeah, that too, ma'am.”

  “So? Should we go for it?”

  “We don't have the troops to try it. Not now. We've gotten a couple more squads in, and by stripping the new ships of their fresh Marines and cycling our people back to duty on them we've gotten some fresh faces, but it's not enough. Not nearly enough. Nor is it wise to chance a squad or two. They'd be out on a limb with no support at all, going into a situation we know nothing about without a means of extraction.”

  “Ah,” the lieutenant said softly, nodding.

  “Pity, I was intrigued by it. I always liked mysteries,” Ensign McAdams said. He was one of the newly arrived Marines and one of two new officers. The other was Second Lieutenant Shoo Mi Sung. The Neopanda wasn't thrilled about being groundside. She also had trouble with the replicated bamboo and nutrient supplements so spent a lot of time in or near the infirmary.

  “No. We don't have the forces to mousetrap this properly. I wish we did,” Moira said. “Push it back to the idea list and move on.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Captain Lyon stated with a nod. “We're working on tracking a possible lead now. It's in the Hemet area, and we believe it's either directed at Arkangel's assets or one of our convoys. I've alerted the wolf pack to be on alert, and we're coordinating with them.”

  <(>~^~<(>

  Lieutenant Jornel noted the attack as well as the aftermath. He manfully refrained from calling the gunny back; he knew he had mopping up to do. Besides, he had other work to do. He forwarded a request to the admiral and a recommendation for further interviews and investigation. Then he sent a copy to Admiral Irons. He was surprised when he got a call back from Commander Sprite. Her email was brief but succulent and to the point. She would look into the matter personally. He smiled. Apparently Jojo and by extension he had kicked over some anthills. Now he could sit back and watch the fireworks.

  <(>~^~<(>

  Jethro went through his usual routine with the replicator, hoping he could get it done early so he could get some time to swing through the bases. The Marines and Militia were good troops, but he knew that they knew he was tied up with meetings and the replicator. It bothered him that they knew his schedule, and therefore how to get into mischief when his attention was otherwise occupied.

  Of course he could tap into the video surveillance network in the base. But some were figuring that out … and where the blind spots were. So a judicious walk about to find out where the naughty boys and girls were hiding might make them keep a lower profile later. They needed to focus on the mission, not pulling stunts.

  When he heard a rap on the door, he turned to see a familiar human dressed in a white business suit. He was carrying a cane that he'd used to rap on the door. He also had a briefcase in his other hand. He knew the guy, some sort of intel specialist who consulted with the Major. “Sir? Should you be here? I don't know if you are authorized,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “Ah, well, as it happens, yes, yes I do have authorization,” Arkangel replied, flashing his IFF through his implants. Bast picked the signal up, decrypted it, and fended off the hack attack from the human's implants.

  She silently put the lieutenant's bio up on Jethro's HUD. “Sir,” Jethro said, standing at attention. He didn't need to salute; the lieutenant wasn't in uniform.

  “At ease, Gunny. Sit even. What are you working on?”

  Jethro turned to the image of the gear on the tray. The nanites were building the five helmets and stack of trade goods quickly and efficiently. “Five helmets, one is a replacement for a damaged one, another is for spares, and the rest will go to the militia, sir.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “We just got a shipment of material in to do this, plus some of the recycled stuff we traded for. I'm hoping to get enough equipment to outfit a militia squad if possible.”

  “Good, they need it. They certainly do,” the intelligence officer murmured thoughtfully as he limped over to the replicator. Jethro noted he was favoring his left leg, even though it was a prosthetic. The human paused as he studied the readouts and then the image of the layout tray.

  “Such impressive technology. I sometimes wonder why our ancestors could lose it so easily,” Arkangel murmured.

  “The other set is a bunch of trade goods, sir. Payment for the next load of goods we get, MREs. There are some basic tools, and some more efficient hydrogen fuel cells the natives can use. I just finished a set of space heaters.”

  “I see. It's good of you to mix it up,” the lieutenant said. He turned to Jethro. Jethro could see the black glass eye patch covering the man's left eye scan him with some pretty powerful sensors. He also noted Bast rebuff some of the deeper scans. Her long pointed ears went back on his HUD. Apparently he wasn't the only one who didn't like the intrusion.

  “Well, as it happens, I need some equipment,” the intelligence officer said. “And unfortunately, I don't have much to trade for it,” he said, handling his cane.

  “You can requisition it, sir,” Jethro said cautiously.

  “That takes time. Time I don't have nor do you. I need to replace some … specialized equipment. Gear I use to try to keep you and the other Marines alive.”

  Jethro nodded slowly. He knew what he was getting at. The intel he fed to the Marines let them know where possible concentrations of forces were … and when there was a possible attack in the works. “Spy equipment you mean, sir.”

  “Got it in one,” the spy replied with a trace of a smile. “Do you have a problem with that, Gunny?”

  “I can do it, sir.”

  “You have the keys?”

  “It depends on the specs, sir.”

  “Ah, as to that,” the human looked at the console with pursed lips until he found the universal port. “You mind?” he asked, pointing to it with his left index finger.

  “Go for it, sir.”

  “I'm clean,” the lieutenant said as his fingertip flipped up and a port was exposed. He jacked in immediately. “I prefer this to WiFi. You never know who's listening with that.”

  Jethro nodded dutifully. “Yes, sir.” He looked the specs over. The spy gear was simple, a network of nano cameras, tiny micro bots, tracking bugs, plus some computer network hardware and radio equipment to coordinate it all.

  “I packed most of this in my baggage and in my prosthetics,” the lieutenant stated. “But as I said, I depleted my supply over the years. I am most anxious to refill my stockpile in case of need. I have a few leads, and I need to follow-up on them.”

  “Certainly, sir. Anything to help,” Jethro replied. He used his own implants to select the border around the helmets and then placed small pallets of selected spy gear on each. When he finished he had about five kilos of electronic gear there.

  “That will do splendidly. Excellent,” the lieutenant replied, countersigning the replicato
r's request for authentication. The tiny computer brain in the replicator considered the request for a moment. Bast added her own signature to get it to agree and move the process along. After a moment it did so, and started to create the gear.

  “Excellent. I see it is at work already.” The human unjacked from the console, let his finger return to normal, and then stuck it in his jacket pocket.

  Jethro noted he had a white briefcase and cane. The cane was a set of weapons and other gear, he could tell from the scan. But the briefcase was a blank. Or was until Arkangel went over to it and opened it to jack in there. It was a relay network, a small battery, powerful wireless data network receiver, and computer all in one. And from the jack in, he could tell the human's prosthetics were much like the admiral's or even Jethro's own, just specialized for his tradecraft.

  “I heard Major White Wolf has an A.I. working with her?” the human said, turning to Jethro.

  “Yes sir. The details are classified though.”

  “Ah, I see,” the lieutenant replied, nodding sagely. “I wish I had one,” he said, sounding peeved. “And nanites. A portable replicator would make this so much easier,” he said, indicating the Marine's class one industrial replicator.

  “Do you know much about the A.I.? It is a she right? I was wondering if it is a smart A.I. or a dumb A.I.,” the lieutenant stated with an inquiry in his tone and manner. “And most important of all, if I can't borrow her, where can I get one?”

  “You'll have to talk to your chain of command, sir,” Jethro replied cautiously. “Most of the details about the A.I. are classified,” he said.

  “I see,” he replied after a moment. He studied Jethro and then grunted. “You know, I looked into you when I heard all the stories and rumors. The black cat. Don't let him cross your path,” he said, making scary sounds. He snorted when Jethro flicked his ears in humor. “I am curious about you. You have a rather … impressive reputation. And something is certainly blocking my scans,” he said. He frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose I could just order you to divulge it all, right?”

  “I'm sorry, sir; it's classified,” Jethro replied as Bast fed a bit of reverb and metallic tones into his voice. “Those are my implants talking, sir. You need to refer any further inquiries like that to the Major or your own chain of command.”

  Arkangel eyed him and then nodded. “Ah. I suppose so.”

  The replicator pinged. They turned to it. “You're equipment is ready sir.”

  “Very good,” Arkangel replied. Jethro opened the lid as the man took his jacket off, unbuttoned his cufflink, and rolled his left sleeve up. He had a snappy way of moving, a formalism to it. When he got the sleeve up, he nodded to Jethro.

  Jethro set the other equipment aside and then handed the intelligence officer a pallet. The lieutenant's arm opened up showing empty ports in various places. He slotted equipment into each. When he was finished Jethro handed him a second pallet.

  “I'll save the ones for my leg for another time and place. I had you replicate a few spare pallets for later as well, that way I won't have to bother you in the near future,” the lieutenant said as he got dressed once more. Jethro noted the cane, briefcase, even his tie and vest were that off white color. Almost a cream. He snorted mentally.

  Bast shot off a warning note to the Major as the lieutenant gathered up the surplus spy gear into his briefcase. She should know the man had the gear … and that he could very well spy on his own side.

  “Well, thank you my good man. If I can ever do a favor for you, just let me know.”

  “Just keep our people safe, sir. That and give us plenty of targets,” Jethro replied with an ear flick and feral smile.

  “I'll do that,” Arkangel replied with a nod as he left.

  <(>~^~<(>

  Kalin McClure of the McClure clan hated the enemy. It was just hard to figure out who that was from time to time. At least until the bastard pirates had killed Malcolm.

  Oh they hadn't killed his son outright, of course not, for he was a human. But young Mal had stepped up. He'd protested when the pirates had started rounding up his nonhuman friends. He'd made some noise, and his mother and aunts had shushed him. The boy had tried; Kalin knew the lad had helped a few of his friends hide and a few more escape the city ahead of the sweeps.

  But it had been all for naught. The lad had seen a friend, young Arisa, being beaten and dragged through the streets. His school had let out, and the kids had lined the street to see it. A demonstration they'd called it, then they'd dragged any nonhuman out of the kids’ ranks and beaten them too. Malcolm and a few of his friends had protested, even getting in the way. Standing up for what they believed in. Kalin closed his eyes in pain. They'd been beaten for their troubles. Mal had died from the fractured skull a few days later, having never woken up.

  His mother had been inconsolable about the loss of her son. His son. Kalin had other feelings; rage was at the top of his list. So, he, his brother Jock, and a few of their mates had stalked the night, killing those who had killed his boy. Then killing those helping them.

  He'd gone to ground after that, using the sewers and underground freight tunnels near the ports to get around the city undetected. He'd learned to temper his rage, to stop striking without thinking. Twice he'd nearly been caught, but Jock had saved his arse.

  His wife had given her life to help the poor wretches in the ghettos, smuggling them food until she and her sister had been caught. Both had been hung, and Kalin had felt the rage return.

  They had been fighting a losing cause though, or so they thought. Then the Feds had come. They'd made a hash out of the landing, but they'd taken the ships in orbit. Then they'd gotten the Baroness bitch to run for the hills and dales when the latest group had arrived. Neos and aliens and shame had hit his countrymen. They felt it every time they looked on to the Marines, shame over having done little or nothing to protect their one time friends and neighbors.

  Jock had counseled patience; he'd convinced their group to hold out, to wait and watch. They had, picking off a few of the pirate bastards who had crept into the shadows with them. Jock had pointed out the flaws, the mistakes the Feds had made, and Kalin admitted they had been making quite a bit. But things were changing.

  Every week or so there was news of another ship arriving in orbit. Not only that, but some gear too. They could see the space stations being built in orbit. No one had done that, not even the vaunted empies who had promised their supporters everything would be like it had been before the war once they won.

  Not only were more ships coming in but equipment and gear too. When they had been in control, the pirates had gathered the weapons for their own uses. Weapons and any bauble that caught their eye. Even some of the ladies, he thought, shying away from the sight of his niece nearby. The Feds did it differently. They had handed the weapons and gear out to the militias along with food, radios, and other things. They shared intel, and they were big on helping those who had fought and bled by their side. He'd heard about their medics.

  But still Jock had insisted on patience. And Kalin had agreed, though he'd wavered. He'd almost been tempted to warn the Feds a few times of a trap, but they'd figured it out on their own. Now though, now he was certain the Feds weren't going to leave.

  They had been listening to the radio reports of news of other worlds. Daily reports of events in other star systems. It was hard to be believed. Jock had insisted it was porkies, propaganda, but it had been steady and consistent. News had spread of more Marines coming—more equipment, more troops, more ships. “I think it's time to get off the fence,” He looked around the group. “They're going the full Monty; we need to sign on or be left behind.”

  “Aye, we've been takin the piss long enough,” Edward Michim said with a nod. He glanced at Jock then away. “I say we be barmy if we don't get into the fight,” he finished.

  Jock's eyes flashed. “Bugger off, Ed. We've been in the fight. You're just got a stonker for the bits and bobs they've been handing out like
candy. You know it's a trick.”

  “Tosh I say! Says who?” Miria said, jutting out her chin as she angrily looked at her father. “Da, don't be daft. We need to pick a side. Well, I say we pick the right one 'ere n now. The Feds got my vote.”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” a voice said softly in the ensuing silence.

  “Any road,” Kalin said, trying to get them back on track. “We need a vote.”

  “You just want to get it in there, to stick your John Thomas in. You're going to get it whacked off, you know that, right?” Jock accused.

  “If I am, I am. But I want to get in here, to get in on the kill if we can. Not let the outsiders hog all the glory and all that.” Several of the people nodded. Other's looked unsure. “And I know a few of you would like to get back to your old life. The sooner we put this bitch in the ground, the sooner you can. Who's in for it?”

  Jock looked at his brother, then to his daughter. He thought about it, thought about how he wanted a better life for her. But Kalin was right, the only way out was through, and hell if he was going to trust anyone else to see it done right. Not after they'd already bollixed it up. “Ah hell, why not,” Jock said when he realized the others couldn't be dissuaded. He raised his hand right along with his daughters.

  <(>~^~<(>

  The report on Jethro's attack on the Nelson and Bast's hack was well received by Commander Sprite. What bothered her was the lack of details. It also bothered her that the naval officers hadn't acknowledged the feat, nor had brought the intelligence to her or anyone else's attention.

  When she had a free moment, Sprite called Bast over the ansible but couldn't get much details out of the other A.I. due to the low bandwidth and the other A.I.'s reluctance to speak.

  “Admiral, trying to get the details is ‘like pulling teeth through a straw,’” she told Admiral Irons in frustration.